


Not All That is Elven is Light

by literalmind



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, I didn't think it was really enough for a real warning, I just don't think all Orcs are automatically bad ok, I wrote it when I was like 16, Lothlórien, Orc/Elf Friendship, Orcs, Redemption, VERY MINOR BRIEF suggestion of non-con in chapter 6, Young Elf, Young Orc, but if you think it is let me know and I'll change it, repost from ffn, this is an old fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:34:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29559882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literalmind/pseuds/literalmind
Summary: A young Lothlórien border guard stumbles upon an Orc that acts strangely. Is it possible that an Orc can be good?::This is a reposting of an old fic of mine from FFN, written in 2014, when I was in my mid-teens. I still suck at summaries.::
Relationships: Original Elf Character(s) & Original Orc Character(s)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Like I said in the summary, I'm reposting this fic from FFN; figured it was high time I made the switch. This was my very first fanfiction! It's old, it's a little cringey in places, and I totally just gave the main character an Elvish word straight from the dictionary for a name, with no suffix or anything. But I decided not to change anything at this time--in future, I may go back and tweak this one, or rewrite it completely, but for now the only thing I changed is Alagos's age. Everything else is preserved exactly as I posted it on the other site.
> 
> Despite its age, I hope you enjoy it!

Alagos bounded silently through the trees. He was the youngest of the Lothlórien border guards by far—scarcely two centuries old—but he already had a reputation for being a swift hunter and deadly opponent. After only a year of being on the guard, Alagos already had more Orc kills under his belt than he could count—certainly as many as any of the more senior guards. Unfortunately, many of these kills were thanks to one of his other reputations: impetuosity. Haldir the Marchwarden liked to name attacks on Orcs that were unnecessarily instigated by the youngest guard, counting them off on his fingers as he did so (he used all ten and had to start over), to which Alagos always retorted that all of the "unnecessary" attacks had served the dual purpose of keeping the guards' skills sharp and ridding Middle Earth of more Orcs.

Today was yet another example of Alagos's impulsiveness. The young Elf was tracking an intruder—almost certainly an Orc—alone. It was just one Orc, though, Alagos reasoned; one shot from the trees and the threat would be taken care of, without any risk to himself. The Elf's spirits soared as he leapt from tree to tree, flet to flet. The chase was what he loved. Sometimes he even pretended he was stalking an enemy, just to get the feeling of flying through the treetops, completely unobserved and unnoticed.

He slowed as he approached his quarry, which had halted. That was odd. Orcs always did their best to penetrate into the heart of Lothlórien. Perhaps it had stopped to rest in the shade, for though it was somewhat overcast, Orcs couldn't stand the sunlight.

Wait. An Orc during the day—albeit a cloudy day? True, the huge trees provided shade, but any Orc would have had to cross an open field to reach the edge of the forest. Alagos paused, and then proceeded even more cautiously. Perhaps he was mistaken about his prey, or perhaps there was no prey at all. The young Elf winced, thinking about the ridicule he would face from the other border guards if this "intruder" turned out to be a stray dog—or worse, a harmless deer.

Alagos leapt into one last tree and crouched down on a branch. His quarry had stopped in a small clearing on the edge of the forest, one that had a small stream—a branch of the Nimrodel—bubbling cheerily through it. Come to think of it, he had investigated this clearing several times before, sure he smelled the stench of Orc, but he had never found any intruders. Until now.

It was indeed an Orc, and it was indeed out in the daytime. It didn't even keep to the shade of the trees; it was sitting in the lush grass at the edge of the stream, where a weak beam of sunlight fell and sparkled on the water. Alagos was very surprised, and once again wondered if he was mistaken about the race of his quarry. He crept a bit closer, farther out along the branch, and studied the figure. He decided that it was, without doubt, an Orc—a very small Orc, with skin perhaps less charred-looking than most, but an Orc nonetheless.

Alagos readied his bow and nocked an arrow. He would make this quick. He drew back the string, aimed, and…waited. Something stilled his hand. Alagos didn't know why, but for some reason, he decided to watch this little Orc that had behaved so strangely, so contrary to its kind. The young guard relaxed his arm, returning the bowstring to its natural position, and lowered the bow, but he kept the arrow nocked. He sat back on his haunches and observed the intruder.

The small Orc wasn't doing anything, really, just sitting on the bank and gazing at the stream. It appeared to be mesmerized by the dull flashes and shimmers made by the weak sunlight striking the running water. The Orc reached out a gnarled hand and hesitantly touched the water with one clawed finger. Alagos, watching from the trees, winced and gritted his teeth. Part of the pledge of the border guards was that they would never let the filth of Orcs touch the springs of Lothlórien, especially the Nimrodel. And still, the Elven guard did not shoot.

The Orc had giggled—actually giggled—when its finger touched the cool water, the current swirling and flowing around the new obstacle. It wasn't a pleasant sound, exactly, but it was certainly more pleasant than any other Orc laughter Alagos had heard. Though somewhat raspy, the laugh was quite high-pitched for an Orc, and for the first time Alagos wondered if perhaps this Orc was a young one.

The Elf had never thought about Orcs having a childhood before. They probably didn't—most likely they were engaged in vicious, bloodthirsty behavior from birth. Alagos thought back to some of his past battles with Orcs and remembered that some had been smaller than others. Had those been younglings? He wouldn't be surprised if they were. Orcs, even young ones, had no innocence. They were pure, filthy evil. Alagos kept watching the small Orc with narrowed eyes—and still did not let fly his arrow. He was, rather against his will, fascinated with the utterly un-Orc-like behavior of this intruder.

For a few minutes, it dipped its finger in and out of the water, giggling and observing the way the water curled around it. Tiring of this, the Orc looked around the clearing. Spotting something that caught its interest, it rose and trotted across to the base of the tree right next to Alagos's. The watching Elf tensed and tightened his grip on his bow, but the Orc only bent and picked something up from the ground, holding the object close to its face to inspect it. The object was a walnut, but inside its yellow-green skin, it looked nothing like a nut, and the Orc was visibly puzzled as to what it was. It sniffed the nut's casing and sneezed (they did have a rather strong citrusy smell, Alagos recalled), and then pierced the thick skin with its claw. Alagos stiffened and narrowed his eyes at the destructive behavior he had been expecting. However, now having figured out what the strange orb was, the Orc did not tear apart any others; instead, it gathered up a few and returned to its spot on the riverbank.

The Orc dropped one of the walnuts into the water, presumably to see if it would float. Then it scooped the nut out of the stream and dropped it again, this time from a taller height, and giggled again. It kept this up for a minute, grinning—Alagos had to assume it was grinning, though it looked like a snarl—though the Elf couldn't fathom why. Perhaps it enjoyed the deep _ploop!_ noise the nut made as it struck the water. After dropping the walnut a few more times, the Orc began to toss it into the air and catch it. Alagos fondly remembered doing this when he was a child, too. To see a young Orc play the same game as a young Elf once had was a jolt, to say the least, and not a little unnerving.

After a while, the Orc, tired of fumbling its catches, set the walnuts aside and lay back on the grass, its feet dangling over the bank, its toes just submerged in the stream. Cushioning its slightly misshapen head on its long arms, it gazed up at the cloudy sky. The sun had moved and was no longer focused directly on the clearing, which the Orc seemed to enjoy. Alagos was thoroughly perplexed. This young Orc seemed to be… _enjoying nature._ He had never seen anything like it, nor had he ever heard of this happening before, either. He and everyone he knew had always thought that Orcs liked nothing but killing, destroying, and torturing things. For some reason, this one was drastically different.

Alagos studied the young Orc again. He now saw that, in addition to its less-beastly skin, its head and face were not as repulsively misshapen as most of its kind. Other Orcs' faces were set in a permanent, hideous snarl; this one, while still vicious-looking, was naturally relaxed. Perhaps this was because it was young enough to not have a snarl stuck on its face yet. The Orc's ears were also smaller, more gently pointed than most other Orcs'. All in all, though by no means charming, it was the least hideous Orc Alagos had ever laid eyes on.

A sweet, high birdsong brought his attention to a warbler that had alighted on a branch above and to the left of his head. Alagos was rather enjoying the peacefulness of the scene—until he realized that the bird's twitters and chirps had also caught the attention of the Orc. It had sat up and was looking around for the source of the song. Alagos froze. _Uh oh._ The Orc's eyes were already trained in his general direction. If he ran away now, it would certainly see him, and it might follow him. That would not do; he must dispose of this Orc, no matter how gentle it seemed to be. Slowly, carefully, Alagos shifted his weight, again readying his bow. The arrow slipped a little, and he glanced down to catch it and return it to its place on the string. When he focused once again on the Orc, he found that its eyes were staring straight at him.


	2. Chapter 2

Alagos should have shot the Orc. Normally, he would have. But again, something inexplicably made him hesitate. He was not known for hesitation; indeed, his name, meaning "storm of wind", was given him for his restless impetuosity, evident from the day of his birth. As it was, today he crouched frozen in the trees, fingers gripping his arrow but not drawing it. He stared at the small Orc, and the Orc stared at him. They gazed at one another for several long moments, the Elf with wariness, the Orc with fear, and both with not a little wonder.

The Orc took a deep breath. Alagos's drawing arm tensed, but the Orc merely spoke. "Er…h-hello," it said nervously, in the Common Speech. Its voice was raspy, even gravelly, but soft and high-pitched. Alagos stared at it. "Hello," he answered blankly, unsure of what to do.

"I-I'm sorry I, um, trespassed on your—your forest…I'll go now, you don't have to shoot me…" the Orc spoke somewhat haltingly and trailed off, picking anxiously at its long, claw-like nails. It continued to stare at Alagos, clearly terrified, but also clearly fascinated with him.

The Elf considered this. He was inclined to let the strange little Orc go, but he knew that was taking a foolish risk. On the other hand, it had actually apologized for trespassing. And there was also its seeming love of nature to consider. Torn, he decided to _not_ decide right away; instead, he wanted to ask this odd Orc some questions. He tried to decide what to ask first, and to form it in the right way.

"What is wrong with you?" is what he eventually came out with, and cringed at his lack of eloquence. "I mean, why are you different from other Orcs?" Alagos hastily clarified. "You are not destructive like the rest of your kind, and you seem to enjoy being in nature, rather than killing it. How can this be?"

"Oh. Well, I don't believe I'm an Orc. I believe I'm an Elf."

Alagos blinked, dumbfounded by this ridiculous statement. After a few seconds of shocked silence, he began to laugh, his shoulders shaking with mirth. "Oh, you _are_ an Orc," he gasped out through his laughter; "well, I suppose it is possible you are not an Orc, but you are most certainly _not_ an Elf, little creature!"

The delusional Orc looked wounded. "Excuse me, _all_ Orcs are technically Elves! Morg—the Dark One took Elves and twisted them for his dark purposes, way back in the beginning, and made Orcs, right? Well, I'm trying to—to—um, restore—no, regain—"

"Your former glory?" Alagos supplied with a smirk. The Orc below him nodded. "Yes! No. Not _glory_ , really, I'm sure, but…goodness. Not-Orc-ness. _Better-_ ness. I'm trying to escape the horribleness of being an Orc. I want to be good. I want to be an Elf!"

The little Orc spoke with such conviction, such earnestness, that Alagos found he believed it. He was touched, but still amused. He asked the Orc-turned-Elf, "And how do you propose to become an Elf, little Orc? Eat vegetables and stay in the sun, hoping she will bleach you white? Live in the trees and shoot a bow?"

The Orc was looking dismayed. "I haven't figured that part out yet," it admitted. "But I'm going to try everything I can think of, starting with not acting like an Orc!"

Alagos swung down from his perch in the tree, landing in front of the Orc, who yelped in fright, tumbled backward in shock and fell into the stream. It scrambled to its feet, shaking the water off its head, and glared at Alagos. "A little warning, maybe?!" it growled indignantly. Though Alagos believed the Orc was no threat, its glare and growl still made him want to step back. Instead he laughed lightly. "Where would we Elves be if we gave warning? Our specialty is surprise," he said easily. "Do not worry, it is just a bit of water. Although," the Elf added as an afterthought, "I will have to kill you now, as you have soiled the waters of the Nimrodel with your Orc-filth."

The little Orc gasped in fright and stumbled away from Alagos; then it halted and narrowed its eyes at him. He was laughing again. The Orc pointed at him. "I touched the water lots of times before, and you didn't kill me then, even though you were watching. Very funny, scaring me like that. Besides, I'm not all that dirty. I do try to keep myself _mostly_ clean, as any girl Elf would do."

Alagos choked on his laughter. "You are a _female_?!" He was stunned. The possibility of this Orc being a female had never occurred to him. Now he wondered how many of the Orcs he had killed had been female, in addition to wondering how many had been younglings. Way to make him feel somewhat guilty about his victories!

The Orc was eyeing him strangely. "Well, yeah," it—she—said, as if this should have been obvious from the beginning. "Why? Is something wrong with that?"

Alagos shook his head. "No, it simply…took me by surprise."

The female Orc seemed uncertain what to make of his confusion. "Oh," she said simply. Recovering her wits, she asked the Elf, "So, what's your name? I'm Ski. It means eight, because I was the eighth baby my mother had. She didn't like me. Anyway, your name?"

"Alagos," he answered, taken aback by this new show of friendliness—from an Orc, no less. Ski smiled her snarly smile and nodded. "That's a nice name," she announced. "What does it mean?"

Still confused, Alagos answered, "Storm of wind. My parents gave me that name because I was impulsive."

"Really?" asked Ski, surprised. "You seem pretty patient to me. After all, you watched me instead of shooting me on sight! Er—thanks for that, by the way, and for actually listening to me. And believing me. At least, I think you believed me. So, um, thank you."

"Observing you instead of killing you _was_ the impulsive behavior. You are welcome," Alagos said, somewhat uneasily. He still wasn't sure that he had done the right thing by letting an intruder—an _Orc_ —live, and then fraternizing with it; was he simply being gullible?

Ski must have seen Alagos's uneasiness and renewed suspicion in his eyes, because hers widened in dismay. "You…you _do_ believe me, right?" she asked nervously. "I'm being honest, I swear! I know that's rare—maybe even unheard of—for an Orc, but then, I'm trying to _not_ be an Orc, remember?" The youngster had edged back from Alagos slightly as she said this, desperation once again showing on her misshapen face. "I'm _not_ like the others!"

The Elf gazed at the young Orc's anguished face, eyes narrowed, for a long moment. As any Elf—or Man or Dwarf, for that matter—would be, his logical mind screamed its distrust of the Orc, and warned him against her words. But Alagos saw her defiant earnestness, saw the truth in her eyes, and knew that Ski was honest in all she said.

Alagos locked gazes with Ski and inclined his head. "I believe you," he said in a low, strong voice. "I see truth in you, and goodness, young Ski. Never have I expected to find these qualities in one of your race. Forgive me for doubting you, but you must understand why I did."

Ski, clearly relieved, and standing taller at his praise, nodded. "Yes, I understand. If I were you, I wouldn't have trusted me either. Thank you…for saying I was good."

The Elf dipped his head in response to her thanks. He glanced up at the sky, now tinged with pink from the approaching sunset. "The hour grows late, and the Sun prepares for her nightly rest. I must return home now, lest the other guards come searching for me. I will tell none of our meeting; but you are welcome here, in this clearing, at any time. The border guard rarely ventures this far; when it does, I will volunteer to patrol myself. Haldir perceives little risk from this area." Ski gave him a deeply grateful look, at a loss for words. Alagos gave her a small smile, understanding.

"Now I must take my leave, _mellon-nín_ ; but I hope we meet again." Alagos turned and sprang up into the trees, light as a shadow, as Ski raised her hand in farewell. "Alagos," she called, and he turned, scarcely visible in the gathering gloom. "Was that Elvish? _Mellon-nín_ —what does it mean?"

"'My friend.'"

Alagos leapt away through the treetops, but not before seeing Ski's face. This time, there was not even a semblance of a snarl; the smile was pure, blissful joy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From my notes on FFN:
> 
> "A/N: I got Ski's name from the LOTR wiki, which had a (disappointingly short) list of Black Speech words. It may or may not be reliable. I think Ski can be pronounced either "skee" or "sky", but it's probably pronounced "skih", with a short i. Tolkien based Black Speech off of Persian, Akkadian, and/or some Eastern European languages, I believe; I'm not sure of the pronunciation rules for those languages, but Ski with a short i seems like the sharpest, harshest and most guttural of the possible pronunciations, so that's what I'm going with in my head. Anyway. Just for those of you obsessed with proper pronunciation in your head (anyone? no one? oh well, just me, then)."
> 
> Current note: I remember reading that Tolkien said Black Speech lacks the phoneme /i/ (ee), because it forces the speaker to "smile" (spread the lips). So "skih" is, most likely, the proper pronunciation. (Sorry, linguistics major here, had to make that clear.)


	3. Chapter 3

Ski cautiously made her way to the clearing—"her" clearing, as she thought of it. She loved that place. It was so beautiful, so peaceful, and it was where she could be alone, away from the Orcs she was forced to call her kind. There, Ski could easily pretend she was an Elf-child, a thing of beauty instead of horror. And there, she had a chance of seeing her first and only friend.

_Friend. Mellon-nín._ Ski's heart soared into the sky when she recalled Alagos's parting words, his generosity in letting her continue visiting her clearing. She almost couldn't believe that she had made a friend—an _Elf_ , no less! Despite Ski's all-consuming wish to be an Elf, she had been terrified of meeting one; all Orcs knew of the Elves' hatred of evil, of their unerring skill with a bow and their readiness to kill anything even resembling an Orc.

Ski paused, listening carefully for any hint of detection or pursuit. Hearing nothing, she quietly continued on her way, almost running the last few steps into the secluded clearing. Today was sunny, and despite the dappled shade of her path, her skin was tingling painfully, hot to the touch. The young Orc trotted over to the cheery stream and stepped into it, stooping to splash the wonderfully cool water over her burning legs and arms. Having soothed her skin, Ski found a comfortable rock by the stream in the shade of a spreading birch tree and settled down, bare feet dangling in the water.

She loved to watch the water. She loved the way the sunlight bounced off the surface, breaking into a thousand bright, dancing pieces. The happy chattering and bubbling had a sweet, melodic quality that sparked Ski's imagination; she liked to pretend that the stream was singing, carrying its tune swiftly downstream to give joy to all who heard it. The Orc sat back, half-closing her eyes, and began to make up a song to go with the stream's music.

_"_ _The water in the woods is pure and clean_

_It's the prettiest sight that's ever been seen_

_It sings and it laughs as it flows on down_

_Down through the woods…"_

Ski trailed off, trying to think of a suitable rhyme for "down", but none came to mind.

"' _Down through the woods to Adan town'_?" came a voice from above her head, and her rear literally lifted off the rock as she jumped. Ski whirled around to get a glimpse of the source of the voice; off-balance, she once again tumbled into the stream.

Alagos dropped from the birch tree, laughing heartily. Ski rose slowly, dripping water and glowering at him. "Please tell me this isn't going to be a regular thing with you," she asked, half-exasperated, half-amused. Alagos flashed her a wide grin. "I fear I cannot. I endeavor to only speak the truth." Ski let out a _harrumph_ and climbed out of the stream. Though she was slightly ticked at the Elf for making her fall into the water again, still she couldn't help laughing.

"All right, I admit I can see the humor," she huffed, grinning all the same. "I must have looked pretty silly."

"Indeed," agreed Alagos, which was perhaps not a very smart answer. Ski rolled her eyes but decided to let it go. "Thanks for giving me an ending," she said lightly, resettling herself on the cool rock. "What does _Adan_ mean?"

Alagos hovered at the bank, hesitating, but then took a seat in the grass near the youngster. "'Man'. This branch of the Nimrodel does not flow to any settlements of Men, but the main river does. I thought it might apply. 'Twas a fair song, by the way."

Ski smiled, pleased. "Thanks! I just made it up right then. I felt like the stream was singing, so I decided to give it some words." She stopped at the strange look Alagos was giving her. "What? Alagos, why are you looking at me like that?"

The Elf shook his head wonderingly. "I suppose I should not be surprised…" he muttered. He turned his gaze back to Ski's face. "I was simply surprised that you could hear the water's song. I had thought only fairer folk—" He stopped himself. "But you, of course, are an exception. I was simply not expecting it."

The young Orc had not even noticed her friend's slight slur. She was too focused on his previous sentence. "You mean—you mean the water really _is_ singing?" she gasped excitedly. "Seriously? What is it saying? Can you understand it?"

Alagos, relieved his new friend hadn't taken offense at his condemnation of her race, nodded. "Aye. All waters have a song of their own, but the Nimrodel's is special to the Elves, more so than others'." Ski scooted closer to him, amber eyes wide, and wrapped her long arms around her shins. Sensing a story, she rested her chin on her knees and stared at Alagos with a look that clearly said, "Go on!"

The Elf settled himself more comfortably in the grass, legs crossed. "Long, long ago, there was an _elleth_ —an Elf-maiden—by the name of Nimrodel. She was radiantly beautiful, and her voice was more beautiful still. She had a great love for the water, and her favorite place in the forest was a lovely waterfall, streaming into a clear pool, whence the river flowed. Nimrodel often could be found by the falls, singing."

"What did she sing of?" Ski inquired curiously.

"Many things," answered Alagos. "The sun, the stars, the golden boughs of Lothlórien; most often, though, I am sure she sang of Valinor—the Undying Lands to the West, where Elves once lived, and whither all pass in the end."

Both were silent a few moments, thinking of this. Then Ski asked in a hushed voice, "So what happened to Nimrodel? Did she go back to Valinor?" Alagos shook his head sadly.

"No, Ski. She simply disappeared—none know whither, or why. Her lover, Amroth, was forced to sail to the Undying Lands without her. But he leapt into the sea, intending to swim back to his love. None know his fate, either. It is said, though, that the Falls and River of Nimrodel still carry her voice, singing evermore of Amroth and the West."

Ski shivered a little and glanced at the stream. "That's a nice story, but it's sad…and a little bit eerie." Alagos raised his eyebrows. "Eerie? In what way?"

Ski shrugged. "Just the thought of a dead Elf's voice haunting the water kind of makes me not want to touch it anymore."

Alagos chuckled. "Indeed. Now you understand why the Nimrodel, above all rivers, is dear to the hearts of the Elves of Lothlórien. All waters are alive, but this water has a spirit, in a way." Both Elf and Orc gazed at the stream for a long moment, their minds far away, the only sound the gurgling of the water.

Shortly Alagos turned to Ski, a quizzical look in his eye. "I have been meaning to ask you, Ski, from whom did you learn to speak the Common Tongue? Your vocabulary is wide, your command of the language excellent; the vocabulary of most Orcs is limited to imperatives, harsh words, and curses."

Ski nodded in understanding. "I'm from Moria. Goblins and Orcs are mingled there, so a greater command of the Common Speech is needed. I also spent some time with the Goblins of Goblin-Town, farther north in the Misty Mountains. That's where I learned a little bit about Elves and the history of Orcs." She smiled ruefully. "Goblins think they're better than Orcs because Orcs used to be Elves, whereas Goblins were Men and Dwarves. They think that since Orcs used to be of an extremely good and noble race, they're somehow not as dark as Goblins."

The Elf made a small noise of dissent. "That is where the Goblins are mistaken. Everything the Evil One twisted for his purpose is the inverse—the opposite—of what it once was. Thus, the more noble the being to begin with, the darker and more evil the result."

Ski thought for a moment. "What were Trolls, then?" she asked. "They must have been something not so good, because Trolls aren't really evil—they're just mean and stupid."

Alagos sighed. "Trolls were once Ents, Ski. They were the Tree-herders: beings that spoke to the trees and befriended them, beings much like trees themselves. Ents are quite possibly the oldest and wisest beings in Middle Earth, older even than Elves. The Trolls you have seen were simple Cave-trolls—degraded and devolved forms of true Trolls. Those are actually quite intelligent, and every bit as evil, but one will only find those in and around the Land of Shadow."

The Orc's eyes were wide. "Oh," was all she said. She seemed subdued for a moment; then she regained her usual cheer. "Well, that's enough of that. Let's play a game!"


	4. Chapter 4

"I thought we could do something with those nut things," Ski said, gesturing to the little balls that littered the ground around the base of a walnut tree.

Alagos rose and strode over to the tree, picking up a few of the nuts. A sudden, mischievous idea struck him, and he paused for a moment with his back to the Orc. Then, with a quick movement, he spun and tossed a walnut at her, shouting, "Catch as catch can!" as he did so. Ski, who had been half-expecting something of the sort, could still only look discombobulated and fumblingly try to catch the makeshift ball. It sailed toward her in a smooth arc and she held out her hands somewhat awkwardly in an attempt to stop its progress. She missed by a good six inches, and the walnut landed neatly on the very top of her head (as its pitcher had intended), and bounced off.

"Ow!" said the Orc, rubbing her head and further messing up her already disheveled sparse hair in the process. "That kind of hurt!" But she was grinning. The Elf was grinning, too. He cleared his throat. "Now, if you're quite done flailing about—"

"Hey!"

"—we can play a game of catch. Or at least, _I_ will play a game of catch; based on your opening performance, _you_ may very well play a game of miss," Alagos said teasingly. The young Orc spluttered a moment, then snorted and rolled her eyes. "We'll see about _that_ ," she said with a sniff, the light of challenge and fun in her eyes.

* * *

An hour later, both contestants lay sprawled on their backs in the grass, the smaller of the two panting from exertion. The "game of catch" had escalated into a fully-blown walnut-fight, which had ended when Alagos scurried up a tree with his arms full of nuts and rained down a veritable storm on Ski, who finally gave in with a howled "Okay, okay, I give up, I give up!" as she sprinted around the clearing with her arms over her head and Alagos easily kept pace in the treetops.

The Elf had triumphed, of course, but he had not escaped the battle unscathed: while Ski was rubbish at catching things, she was a sharp aim, and had gotten in her blows with some fantastic pitches to the Elf's chest and torso. So it was with pardonable pride that she huffed, "Well, at least I went down valiantly," and flung her arms out dramatically, poking out her tongue and crossing her eyes in a comical portrayal of a fallen warrior. Her right hand accidentally struck Alagos's forehead, as he lay nearby with the top of his head toward Ski.

"Ouch," he grumbled good-naturedly, and Ski giggled. "Whoops! Sorry." She folded her arm back over her chest. "That was fun," she sighed, and closed her eyes. Alagos voiced his agreement and folded his hands behind his golden head. It really was a beautiful day: the sky was the deep blue of late summer, and the afternoon sun beamed down into the clearing. The Elf contentedly watched the white, fluffy clouds drift by and morph, shaped by the wind high above. Though Ski was in the shade, she could see the sky, and also watched the clouds with fascination.

Suddenly, Alagos bolted upright. He had heard something. Was that just the wind in the branches, or…? No. Light footsteps were making their way through the boughs, unmistakably heading toward the clearing. Alagos shot to his feet and jerked Ski up with him. Her mouth opened and she began to form a question, and he quickly covered her lips with his fingertips. The Elf tilted his head toward the trees. "Elf coming," he breathed in the Orc's ear, and her eyes widened in fear.

"Go. Go! I will handle this," her friend hissed. Ski hesitated briefly, but then shot him an anguished look and took off as quickly and quietly as she could. Alagos watched her go, his heart pounding in his ears, and snatched his bow up from where he had rested it against a tree trunk. He knew the other Elves wouldn't listen to Ski, wouldn't believe her, would kill her as soon as look at her. Hurriedly Alagos slung his quiver over his back and nocked an arrow, and then took up a position at the edge of the clearing that suggested he had only just arrived.

Barely two seconds later, an Elf landed on a thick branch above his head. Alagos glanced up at him. "Ah, Idhren," he said, as casually as he could, "I see you've arrived in time to witness my frustration." The other Elf dropped to the ground beside him. "Frustration?" asked the newcomer, a look of suspicion on his face. "I thought I heard sounds of merriment upon the wind: your voice, and the voice of another. But I smell the stench of Orc?" The last words, though a statement, held a question.

Alagos cursed mentally. He should have been more careful—he of all people should know how keen the hearing of Elves was! And of course it would be Idhren who came to investigate. Of all the border guards, Idhren was the wisest and most perceptive. Fooling him was going to be very hard indeed. Alagos carefully kept his face and voice neutral as he spoke. "Yes, I was tracking an Orc; I followed it to this clearing, but it has disappeared. As for the merriment, you must be mistaken: I have been silent and intent on my prey. Perhaps you heard others laughing, and mistook one of their voices for mine."

Idhren regarded Alagos with a mixture of misgiving and consternation. "It is possible that I misheard," said the older Elf carefully; "but I do not think I did." His eyes traveled around the little clearing, taking in the large indentations in the grass, as well as the smaller, willy-nilly indentations, and the sixty or so walnuts that lay scattered all over the clearing. Alagos closed his eyes. He was an idiot. Any Elf, never mind Idhren, could have easily seen that there had been some kind of chase or tussle in the grass. How could he have forgotten about those telltale signs?

Alagos opened his eyes again to find Idhren gazing at him with the faintest trace of a smile. "I surmise," he said quietly, "that when you arrived here and confronted the Orc, you dropped your bow and quiver; thus, you proceeded to assault the Orc with walnuts, thereby driving it away. Is that, perchance, what happened?" Alagos stared at his fellow guard, who was now openly smirking. He realized that Idhren had deduced what had happened and was giving him a way out. "Yes," he said quickly, "that is precisely what happened."

Idhren looked amused at Alagos's relief. "May I assume that the Orc—who, perhaps, threw a few walnuts back at you—is… _not_ evil?" Alagos nodded. "You assume correctly. I scarcely believe it myself, still. Two days past, I came upon her—" Idhren's face registered slight surprise; "—in this clearing. I found, through…ahem, through a conversation I did not have, that she believes herself to be an Elf—or, at least, she believes herself capable of becoming an Elf."

The older Elf was silent as he took this in. Then he tilted his head thoughtfully. "It is true that Orcs were once Elves," he said slowly. "It could be possible—in theory—for an Orc to return to the original form of its race. However, this would certainly require an Orc to change its behavior—indeed its heart, its very spirit—and this thing has never occurred." Idhren shook his head in wonder. "Until now."

Alagos's anxiety suddenly returned. Now that Idhren knew his secret, the elder guard would doubtless report both Alagos and Ski to Haldir—perhaps even to Lady Galadriel herself. He would lose his position on the guard, and Ski would likely be killed, or at least taken prisoner and studied closely. Idhren cleared his throat, and the younger Elf's mouth went dry. Then it opened in shock, for Idhren had said, "Worry not. I will not betray your secret, young one."

Seeing the look on Alagos's face, Idhren chuckled. "Why are you so surprised? Have I not proven my wise judgment many times over? It is good that you found this Orc, Alagos. This is the greatest discovery of the age—nay, in the entire history of Middle Earth! But it would be wise to observe her further, proving her good intentions beyond doubt, before bringing her to the attention of others…except, perhaps, to Lady Galadriel. She has a kind heart; she would not slaughter a being with even the smallest spark of good in it. Mayhap she already knows of this Orc."

Idhren grasped the younger Elf's shoulders and looked him in the eyes. "I am in utmost sincerity, young Alagos. I can see you have come to care for this Orc. True friendships are like Silmarils: rare and precious beyond measure. I will not have this one broken if I can help it." Alagos was grateful nearly beyond words. He grasped Idhren's forearm in a handshake. "There are no words to express the depth of my gratitude. I can only give you my thanks, and my trust, and my life."

The older guard smiled and clapped Alagos on the shoulder. "You need not be so dramatic, _mellon_! Come, let us return to Caras Galadhon."


	5. Chapter 5

Ski raced through the forest, her heart thumping wildly against her chest like a trapped animal. She was a fool! Meeting and befriending Alagos had caused her to relax about Elves. Seeing his face when he realized another Elf was approaching, though, and hearing the intensity of his tone, had jolted her back into reality. Alagos was most likely an exception to his kind. Other Elves would, most likely, shoot her on sight. And Alagos could very well get into deep trouble if he was found with her.

There was a faint path, but Ski didn't keep to it. She zigzagged around, darting off to the right or left suddenly, then curving back to the opposite direction. She felt like a hunted animal. _This must be what Wargs' prey feels like_ , she thought dimly. Ski was tired now, but she dared not stop, even to listen for sounds of pursuit. She feared that, though Alagos had surely made his best effort, he had not been able to keep his fellow Elves from hunting her down.

Only when the Sun began to set and twilight began to gather did Ski stop. She collapsed in a heap on the leaf-litter, lungs burning and chest heaving. Her legs wouldn't stop trembling—perhaps from exhaustion, perhaps from fear, or perhaps from both. Ski tried very hard not to imagine what the Elves would do to her if they caught her. Sometimes having a vivid imagination was a bad thing.

Once she had caught her breath and her heartbeat had slowed a bit, Ski sat up and looked around to get her bearings. She was…oh, Morgoth, she didn't know where she was! Taking turns at random may have foiled pursuit, but it had managed to get the young Orc thoroughly lost. Now she was alone in a foreign place, and it was getting dark—not that the dark itself bothered her (she came from Moria, after all), but she knew the kinds of creatures that emerged at night. And Ski was just as frightened of her own kind as she was of Elves.

Ski decided that her best bet would be to stay in the forest. Lothlórien's borders were protected by guards, so it was less likely she would run into any Orcs or Wargs or anything while inside the borders. _"_ _Haldir perceives little risk from this area."_ Alagos's words came back to Ski, but she shrugged them off. That meant that fewer guards were wasted on patrols here; but it also must mean that enemies rarely appeared around here. Ski sighed. She was thirsty, but there was little she could do about that. Her stomach growled, and she peered around through the gloom for something edible.

_Aha!_ She had spied an anthill. It wasn't much, but if she ate the whole colony, it should at least put something in her belly. She just hoped they weren't the stinging kind. Ski picked her way over to the anthill and stirred it with a stick, and fat red ants swarmed out. She groaned; they _were_ the stinging kind. Briefly she considered trying to eat them anyway, but quickly dismissed the idea. Her skin might be tough, but her mouth and throat were still sensitive enough for ant-bites to hurt. The young Orc's stomach gurgled again, and she poked it, muttering, "Shut up."

Ski resigned herself to the hunger and sat down with her back to a tree trunk, awaiting the morning.

* * *

A small gust of air, accompanied by a slight _whuff_ sound, riffled her hair. Ski stirred sleepily. She could see faint gray light through her eyelids; she must have dozed through most of the night. She sniffed, suddenly becoming aware of a heavy, musky stench close by. A twig snapped right in front of her, and the noisy puff of air came again, this time accompanied by a long, low growl.

Ski's eyes snapped open to find the twisted face of a Warg scarcely two feet from her own. She gasped and unthinkingly tried to scramble backwards, only to find her way blocked by the tree trunk. At her sudden movement the beast tensed up and laid its ears back, lifting its heavy black lips in a snarl. It glared at Ski with red eyes that burned with malice. A rope of drool hung from its jaws, quivering with the Warg's movement. Ski knew it was going to spring, and knew she had only moments to come up with a plan of action.

She tried to think fast. She didn't see or hear any other Wargs, so this must be a lone one—good, in a way, because that made it one-on-one, but also bad, because lone Wargs were known to be even more vicious than their social counterparts. Ski had no weapons, no means of defense…except…

A wild idea popped into her head. _Well, why not?_ Before the monstrous canine could spring, Ski bolted to her feet and skipped sideways, out from in front of the tree. Scooping up the first stout stick she could find, she began to run—a futile exercise, she knew, but she only needed to outrun it for a few yards.

With a roar, the Warg leapt after the little Orc, who had halted not far away. Ski tried not to look at the huge, slavering jaws that were fast approaching, and focused instead on its short, ugly snout. The giant paws slid on the leaves as the beast slowed itself; then it lunged at the Orc's throat. Ski was ready for it: with a grunt of effort, she swung the stick at its sensitive nose with all her might. Her muscle, combined with the huge beast's momentum, caused the stick to hit the creature's nose so hard the wood splintered and broke.

The monster howled in agony as blood gushed from its nose. While the thing was distracted, Ski jumped over to its neck, dug her hands into the mottled brown fur, and pushed downward for all she was worth. The Warg, focused entirely on its throbbing snout, allowed its head to give in to the guiding push. A few seconds later, it reared up with another anguished cry, knocking Ski away. She had shoved its face deep into the biting-ants' nest. Completely ignoring Ski, the beast pounded away, stumbling, face covered in ants. It ran headlong into a tree and stumbled sideways with a yelp, continuing on its agonized journey out of the forest.

Ski stood and dusted a few ants off her arms and ragged garments, watching the Warg with satisfaction until it was no longer visible. She had sustained a few ant bites herself, especially on her bare feet, but ant bites were certainly preferable over Warg bites any day. The young Orc smiled to herself and began walking, taking the same path as the Warg in order to get out of the forest, but taking care to stay far behind the beast. Its fading howls caused Ski to laugh with rising glee; but alas, that glee would be short-lived.


	6. Chapter 6

Ski deliberately took her time crossing the field between Lothlórien and Moria. The trees thinned until they no longer formed anything like a wood, but were simply staggered throughout the area. She dawdled by every one of them until she finally came to the last tree for some miles. The Orc sat at its base to rest for a moment, her cheerful mood evaporating as she contemplated returning to the dark caverns in which she and her relatives dwelt.

She heaved a sigh and rested the crown of her head against the bole of the tree, gazing up at the sunlight shining through the leaves, creating a soft green glow. A gentle breeze made the branches bend and wave, the Sun flashing in and out of view through them. Ski briefly closed her eyes and wondered, for the millionth time, why Orcs hated the Upper World so, and insisted on living in perpetual, stifling darkness. She curled her lip when she thought about her "home": a single moderately sized "room" in the underground city in which she, her eight siblings, their mother, and at least one random Orc acquaintance slept—at least eleven Orcs in the room at any given sleep-time. Ski supposed the room may have been a Dwarf's residence at one time, when Dwarves lived in Moria, but it had just as likely been a cupboard or storage-room. Ski had seen Dwarven-houses in Moria, and almost all of them consisted of more than one room. All the bigger houses were claimed by Orcs who were higher up on the social food chain, though—and they didn't hesitate to use lethal force to defend their affluent dwellings.

Ski reluctantly stopped her mind from wandering and stood slowly, drinking in the fresh wind and the beauty of the day. She thoroughly loathed the idea of returning to Moria; but she had nowhere else to go. Out here in the Upper World, especially this close to Lothlórien, an Orc such as herself could easily be killed. In Moria, there was some measure of safety—at least, safety from Elves and Men and the like. But an Orc was in just as much danger among its own kind—a wrong word, an "off" tone, even a look that was taken in the wrong way, and you would find yourself with a gash in your throat or a hole in your belly, watching your lifeblood drain away onto the cold stone while your former compatriots went about their business with nary a look askance.

Somehow, Ski had always managed to slip through the cracks. As a very young Orc, she had been voraciously curious; but after several beatings for being a "damn noisy snot that wouldn't shut up," she had learned her lesson and kept her mouth shut. Always quiet, always in the corner or against the wall, the unassuming young Orc managed to melt into the background. Sometimes even her own mother forgot she had even birthed an eighth child—sometimes she skipped over Ski and went straight to Krith, Ski's younger brother. Occasionally the Orc-girl would catch the attention of someone and be yelled at for something or other, but she mostly went unnoticed and unacknowledged.

That was beginning to change, though. Ski was becoming more and more noticeable, though she herself didn't know this. Days spent out in the open, in the wholesome air and sun of Lothlórien, had begun to smooth out her skin and lighten it a few shades. Her jetty hair, once sparse and stringy from malnutrition and constant darkness, was now thicker and healthier-looking. And despite Ski's best efforts to conduct her forays into the open clandestinely, a couple of her returns had been noticed.

Today's return was not one of those, however. Ski spared a few seconds to marvel at the Mirrormere, the stars reflected in it even in the golden light of day, and continued on her way, soon arriving at the Dimrill Gate. She skulked in the shadow of a boulder near the entrance, straining her eyes and ears for signs of a guard. After waiting several minutes and finding none, Ski quickly slipped through the entrance and sidestepped into a nook in the stone wall to let her eyes adjust to the dark and to listen again for unwanted company. The Orc's eyes quickly adjusted and, satisfied she was still alone, she set out towards home.

The narrow, arching bridge scarcely even made Ski flinch anymore, she had traversed it so many times. She trotted across, looking at her feet and trying to ignore the endless abyss that invaded her peripheral vision. Once on the other side, Ski let her feet take her homewards and started to outline a course of action. Her feet knew the way—up the many staircases, through the hallways, right, left, down a slope, straight, up more stairs, through a room, left again, and so forth—through the labyrinthine ancient halls that had once been the pride of the Dwarven race. Ski bent her mind upon her planning. _What to do?_ Her clearing may not be safe for some time; but she couldn't stand the thought of staying in Moria for a week or more. She had gotten too used to the light and clouds and wind and trees from her ever-more-frequent visits to the forest glade.

By the time Ski had reached the First Deep, she had come up with a semblance of a plan. She had an idea of staying in Moria just long enough to steal some supplies, and then camping out by the Mirrormere for a week—out in the fresh air, but close enough to the Gates to flee inside them if the situation warranted. It was a simple scheme and by no means provided for all variables, but it was enough to go on. Pausing to take stock of her surroundings, Ski instinctively pressed up against the wall.

Just in time, too. A heartbeat later, she heard voices, echoing off the stone and growing louder as they approached.

"I have it straight from Minas Morgul," rasped one nasally voice. "Lugbúrz is being rebuilt."

"Oh really?" growled the other voice, a throaty rumble that made Ski think of a dark pit of boiling acid. "And when do you talk to anyone from Morgul?"

The first voice scoffed. "I have relations there, remember? Don't you remember that Orc from over there who came here last month? That was my second cousin."

"That scrawny maggot?" jeered the acid voice. "I should have seen the family resemblance!"

"I'll have you know that my family is highly respected by the Nine—and the Dark Lord himself!" spat the first, his voice shrill with indignation.

"Ha! As if. You know very well the Nine respect none but the Master…"

The voices passed on, becoming fainter until the echoes garbled their words beyond recognition. Ski let out her breath, her heart racing with fear. Lugbúrz being rebuilt! The Nine awake once more—and the Master himself, Morgoth's apprentice, once again commanding his Orcs! She'd had no idea how dark the world's situation had become. The other races must be warned! Elves and Men had defeated Sauron before; they could surely do it again. She must tell Alagos, so that he could warn the rest of the Elves!

That thought made up Ski's mind. Never mind the potential danger to herself—she was going back to her clearing and waiting for Alagos. When he showed up, she would apprise him of the situation. Forget about grabbing supplies. This was urgent!

Ski leapt from her place at the wall and charged back the way she had come, caution forgotten in her haste. She didn't even attempt to make her passage silent. And that was her mistake.

As she raced through a doorway, something tripped her, and she went sprawling face-first onto the cold stone floor. Groaning and shaking her head to clear away the stars, Ski sat up and twisted around to see what had caused her fall—and she froze. On either side of the doorway was an Orc. One was stringy and sickly-looking, and the other was slightly taller, thick-middled and muscular, with a brutish face. Both Orcs were grinning in malicious amusement.

"Well, well, well," sneered the big one, "what do we have here? A little Orc-girl running away from home?" Ski's stomach dropped. That deep, burning voice was unmistakable: these two were the Orcs who had passed her earlier. They must have heard her coming and hidden, and one must have tripped her with his foot.

The stringy one took a rather lopsided step closer. "Hey," he exclaimed in his nasally whine, "this here is that weirdo kid! That one of Snaga's that was always asking questions about Elves and the Upper World!"

The thick one also took a heavy step forward and leaned down to peer into the frightened young Orc's face. He grunted in surprise. "It sure is," he rumbled. "Only she looks different." He leaned even closer until his vicious face was nearly touching Ski's. "Lighter. Almost like…like she's not so Orc-like anymore."

"Yeah!" whined the skinny one. "Looks almost more like an Elf!"

Ski was nearly paralyzed with terror—she didn't like the looks of these Orcs, not one bit—but she found strength enough to speak. "I-I don't know what y-you're talking about," she said in a trembling squeak. She cleared her throat repeated more loudly, "I don't know what you're talking about." She raised her chin defiantly.

"Oh yeah?" growled the brutish Orc. "Then where have you been the past few weeks? Not with your family, I know. I've been…ah, _visiting_ Snaga lately." He leered at Ski, who held back a shudder of revulsion. "So where were you?"

Ski forced her voice to be steady. "None of your business. You just need to know I was elsewhere. That's all. Elsewhere."

"'Elsewhere!'" mimicked the scrawny Orc, while the bigger one guffawed. The brute leaned in again, his broad nose practically touching Ski's skin. "It is most certainly my business," he breathed. His air was sour and rancid and made Ski want to gag. He took a deep whiff through his nose. "Smells like grass and trees," he muttered, "and something else… _Elf_." The last word was a snarl and the Orc's meaty arm shot out, grabbing Ski's jaw in a grip like a vise. His hand was so large it covered half her face, and she struggled to breathe. The Orc squeezed even tighter, his claws digging in to her skin.

"Do you _know_ ," he hissed into her ear, "what we do to filthy little traitors?" Ski's eyes darted to the other Orc, standing a few feet away. He was watching the scene with a greedy, hungry look. A shake from Ski's assailant jerked her attention back to him. He was glaring at her with narrow orange eyes, his friend's hungry look mirrored on his face. He put his mouth close to Ski's ear, his oily cheek pressing against hers. "We do whatever we like," he breathed.

Ski had been wriggling her lips and jaw, and now she managed to get her mouth open. She clamped it closed again with as much force as she could muster, catching half the Orc's finger between her teeth. He had not been expecting it, and he shoved her face away with a howl, his claws scraping painfully across her cheek. Ski kicked him in the groin and then in the face, and scrambled upright, beginning to run even before she had properly gotten to her feet.

Behind her she heard the big Orc's snarls. "You idiot!" he roared, presumably at his companion. " _Don't just stand there watching me!_ _ **Get that bitch!**_ " A smack resounded behind her, and Ski heard the stringy Orc's yelp and whining apology. Footsteps rapidly followed her, and Ski somehow doubled her pace. She had no idea she could run so fast—she would probably be keeping pace with Alagos, were he here!

_Alagos!_ The thought of her friend gave the young Orc strength. She positively flew through the maze of hallways and rooms, thinking of nothing but reaching the Dimrill Gate. Ski heard her pursuer's panting and fading footsteps; then those ceased entirely, and she heard nothing but her own footsteps, her ragged breath and her pounding heart. Her legs burned and her chest ached, but she ignored the pain.

There was the Bridge of Khazad-dûm! Ski raced across it without even slowing. In a few seconds, she saw a sliver of daylight from the doors. She slowed only long enough to slip out the Gate, and then shot across the rocky expanse. Ski hared away to Lothlórien, to safety and a friend, and cast nary a glance backward at the place she would no longer call home.


	7. Chapter 7

"And you are certain that this Orc is truly good?" The Lord Celeborn sat with hands neatly folded on the table before him. He gazed at Alagos and Idhren piercingly, but his eyes were thoughtful, not angry. The Lady Galadriel rested regally on a chair beside her husband.

"Yes, my lord. I have met with her twice, and she does not feel evil. I believe her _fëa_ is true, though she still has a distance to travel before she is truly out of the shadows," said Alagos earnestly. Celeborn's eyes turned to Idhren. "And you concur?" the Elf-Lord asked of the senior guard. Idhren inclined his head. "I do, my lord."

Celeborn stood and clasped his hands behind his back. "Yet you say you have never met the Orc," he challenged. "You will accept its claim of virtue without question, on nothing but the word of an impetuous youth? And you expect others to do the same?"

_Her_ , Alagos wanted to say. _Ski is a she, not an it!_ But he held his tongue. Lord Celeborn's distrust dismayed him, though he had expected it. What stung far worse was his implication that Alagos could not be trusted or taken seriously because of both his youth and his nature. _My perception is just as reliable as yours or Idhren's,_ pe-channas _!_ He seethed to himself.

Alagos suddenly became aware of the others' silence. Pulling himself out of his thoughts, he saw that all three senior Elves were looking at him. As he nervously attempted a smile, his jaw relaxed, and he realized he had been grinding his teeth. Celeborn was staring at him sternly. Galadriel possessed her usual serene expression, while Idhren gave the young Elf an amused look. "You may also want to unclench your fists," he murmured in Alagos's ear. "Otherwise I fear the joints of your fingers may become too stiff for archery."

The young guard felt the heat rising in his face. Embarrassed by his lack of control and impassivity, he looked down at his hands as he unfurled his fingers. There were actually marks on his palms left by his fingernails.

The Lady Galadriel rose, and spoke for the first time. "The guards speak the truth, _hîr vuin_. I myself have known of this Orc for some time now. I have watched her in the waters of my Mirror. She has a bright soul, and it is growing ever brighter as she grows in her knowledge and compassion. Though Alagos may be young, his spiritual senses are strong, and his judgment of others is sound." Here she cast a knowing glance at Alagos, a half-smile on her lips, and her voice spoke inside his head: _Generally, that is._ Another wave of humiliation swept over him at the same time as a rush of gratitude filled him. His humiliation came from the fact that he had remembered that the Lady could read thoughts, and he had mentally called her husband, Celeborn the Wise, an idiot. Alagos hoped he wasn't flushing again.

"I thank you for your confidence in me, my lady," he said humbly, bowing his head. Galadriel inclined her head slightly in return. She turned to Celeborn, who was looking somewhat perturbed. " _Hiril vuin_ ," he said, "you knew of this Orc, aware it was crossing our borders, and yet said nothing to me?"

"It was not yet your time to know," replied Galadriel. "Even now, with three wise Elves bearing witness to the Orc's goodness, your heart persists in doubting her." Her tone was gentle but reproving, and a faint tint of red came into Lord Celeborn's fair cheeks. "I understand your reasoning," he conceded, "and admit I have been somewhat unwilling to believe in the possibility of a virtuous Orc." He turned to Alagos, who was still glowing with pride at Galadriel's counting him as wise. "I must offer you an apology, young Alagos. I should not have allowed your lack of years to blind me to your keen perception. Perhaps we Elves have spent too long a time hating Orcs, and find it difficult to imagine one becoming good. _Geheno nin_ , _mellon_." Celeborn bowed rather stiffly to the young guard, who stood and bowed in return.

"It is well, my lord," Alagos said, graciously accepting Celeborn's apology. They stood there a minute, Alagos fidgeting uncomfortably; finally the Lord Celeborn sighed. "You may go and see if your...friend is in the glade," he said exasperatedly. The young Elf, looking immensely relieved, managed to remember his manners enough to give a quick bow and a "thank you, Lord and Lady" before leaping off the flet, foregoing the ladder-stair in favor of bounding from branch to branch.

Watching him go, Celeborn sighed again and lightly rubbed his temples. Behind him, Idhren chuckled. "The boundless energy of the young, eh? Even the immortal youth of the Eldar is but a semblance of that which is found in the early morning of life."

Galadriel nodded assent. "Well do I remember the days of my youth, spent in Valinor, when Arda was but as a child…. Do you remember, Celeborn, when first we met?" The dreamy, memory-filled look in her eyes faded as she turned her gaze to her husband, to be replaced by sparkling mirth. Celeborn was still massaging his temples with his eyes closed, looking disgruntled. The Lady gave a light, musical laugh and put her arm around his shoulders. "Long have been your days, my love, and still you are of the mind that all young Elves should be possessed of greater wisdom than they are of energy!"

Celeborn finally opened his eyes. "Elves, yes," he muttered. "That one is more belike the offspring of Men. He has no control! Why ever did we agree to Haldir's making him a guard?"

"Because he is a good guard," soothed Galadriel. "Remember, not all Elves possess the gravity of one who has lived through Ages. Let Alagos savor the joy and freedom of youth, for it will pass all too soon. With experience is also gained sadness, and the burden of the Elves."

Celeborn huffed, but gave his wife a small smile. "As usual, Galadriel, you speak the truth." He turned his eyes west, where the Sun was just beginning her descent for the evening. "I pray that you and he are also right about this Orc."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _fëa_ \- soul
> 
> _pe-channas_ \- idiot
> 
> _hîr vuin_ \- my lord/beloved lord
> 
> _hiril vuin_ \- my lady/beloved lady
> 
> _gehenno nin, mellon_ \- forgive me, friend


	8. Chapter 8

Ski sat huddled on the patchy grass in the shadow of a large rock that jutted into her clearing from the surrounding forest. She hurt all over, a deep muscle-ache, and her face stung where the Orc's claws had left gashes in her skin. They were no longer bleeding, but a pulsating pain gripped them with every beat of her heart, and the cool air bit at the raw flesh.

A violent trembling had begun to seize her: before, she had concentrated completely on reaching the glade. Now, with nothing else to focus on, her mind began to replay the frightening scenes, and delayed panic and shock set in. Sure, Ski had been afraid, even terrified, during her predicament; but now she was absolutely petrified with fear at what could have happened, what almost happened. She sat with her knees drawn up to her chest, her head ducked down, her arms encircling her legs so tightly that each hand could grip the upper part of the opposite arm. She could barely breathe. Her breath came in short gasps. The furrows in her cheeks burned suddenly, and Ski realized she was crying.

_Shut up_ , she tried to tell her mind, _it's over, you're fine, you're safe._ But her mind seemed to have, well, a mind of its own. No matter how hard Ski tried, she couldn't shut off her reaction.

A sudden rustling in the trees close at hand made her breath catch in her throat. She shrank down, making herself even smaller. The Elves had found her, or perhaps spiders. Did Lothlórien have giant spiders like the kind she had heard dwelt in Mirkwood? Ski didn't know. Her imagination was out of control, flashing images of attackers before her eyes, each bigger and more frightening than the last. Perhaps the Elves had heard her tearing through the woods and come to kill the intruder; maybe the Orcs had followed her without her realizing; maybe some huge, unknown tree-monster was on its way to find her. _Ents,_ she thought in a panic, _do Ents eat meat?_

Something was in the clearing. Ski could hear its breathing. She clapped a hand over her mouth, trying to stifle her own breath. Light footsteps were making their way toward her rock. She closed her eyes and braced herself for the worst—

"Ski?" A beautifully, wonderfully familiar voice penetrated her state of wild panic. She opened her eyes to see Alagos standing over her, his face troubled, watching her with concern. "Ski," he said again, "what is wro—OOF!" For Ski had cried, "Alagos!" with relief and flung herself at the Elf, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. Caught off guard, Alagos toppled to the ground, the wind knocked out of him by his fall and the weight of the body on top of him. Struggling for breath, he tugged at Ski's arms, trying to free his airway. "Guh—Ski, please—" he choked, "—can't—breathe!"

His urgent tone finally got through to Ski, and she loosened her grip to look down at his face. The normally creamy skin was now a light shade of reddish-purple. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "Sorry! Sorry!" She slid off Alagos's chest and the Elf sucked in several great, wheezing breaths. Ski lay beside him, her legs too weak with relief and joy at seeing her friend to stand. After a moment, Alagos regained his air, and his face returned to its normal fair shade. He sat up and stared at his friend in wonder. She had changed greatly in merely the past two days: her skin was only the palest shade of gray-brown, and smooth as his own; her black hair was no longer stringy at all, just tangled; and her face was more Elven than Orcish. Then he noticed the gashes on her cheeks, and gasped.

"What happened, Ski, that you come to have such wounds?" he asked, voice full of concern. Her sharp movements had opened one again, and it was oozing dark red blood. Ski, who had also sat up, began to tremble again. She gritted her teeth at her body's weakness. "I'm sorry," she muttered, "I'm really not some wimpy kid that can't stand a little pain and fear…" Her eyes began to leak tears once more. "But I'm—I was—really scared. I can't stop shaking…"

And slowly, Ski found herself recounting to Alagos everything that had happened since their last meeting. She spoke until the Sun was low in the sky. Like her tears, the story started leaking out; and like her story, once she got going, her tears flowed more and more quickly. She hated that she was crying, but for some reason, she just couldn't stop. It was like her body was finally rebelling at having her negative emotions pent up inside of it. When Ski came to her near-assault, she started sobbing so hard she could barely talk; but she pressed on, between gasps and sobs, determined not to let her involuntary reactions overwhelm her completely.

The look on her friend's face when she told about the frightening incident didn't help much. He looked utterly horrified and disgusted, making Ski realize just how awful the situation had been, which caused her belated fear to wash over her anew. Finally, finding it just too hard to talk, she summed up the rest of her tale. "So I ran out and ran here to find you," she finished lamely, with a small hiccup.

Alagos was still and silent for a few moments. To Ski's surprise and dismay, his eyes were shining very brightly, as if tears were just behind the lids. _If he starts crying, I'll end up crying again too,_ she thought in disgust. She had finally managed to shut off the geysers that had sprung up behind her eyes. In defense against the tears that threatened to rise again, she forced herself to think about the farthest thing from scariness or sentimentality. She focused on whacking the Warg's nose and shoving it into the fire-ant nest. Better. This also gave the Elf time to collect himself. When he spoke at last, his voice was soft, but steady.

"I am sorry," he said quietly. "I should have instructed you to run only to the edge of the wood and wait there. You needn't have returned to Moria. All of that could have been avoided, had I simply had the forethought." Ski stared at him. He was blaming it on _himself_? She was touched, but she couldn't let him think he was to blame. "It's not your fault!" she protested. "You couldn't have known anything that was going to happen, neither of us could! You were just trying to protect me. And I was trying to protect myself. Besides, _you_ didn't tell me to go to Moria. You just said _run_! So really, it's my own fault I ended up getting hurt."

Alagos gave her a sad but grateful smile. "I suppose you are right," he said. Then his eyes widened. "I mean, you are right that it was not my fault. But it was not _your_ fault, either. I was not agreeing to that!" Ski giggled at his flustered attempt to clarify his statement. A second later, a weariness such as she had never known crashed over her. All her aches and pains rushed back, increased twofold, and she found that her neck no longer wanted to support her head. Her laugh had caused her to relax just the tiniest bit, and that bit was enough to allow much-needed sleep to break through her staunch wakefulness.

"I think… I think I'll take a little nap…" mumbled Ski, her torso already falling backwards. Alagos reached out his arm and placed it behind her back, catching her head before it hit the ground. He gathered the weary girl to him, and she sagged against his chest. "'anks," she mumbled, unable to form her words properly. She really was unbelievably tired. Alagos cradled her like a small child, one arm behind her shoulders and the other beneath her knees, and stood easily in one fluid movement. He took one stride and stopped at a grunt from Ski. "'ll walk," she slurred, but her limbs were so heavy she could barely manage a twitch. The Elf smiled down at her face: it was relaxed, and her eyes were almost closed, so that only a sliver of white and amber could be seen in the twilight.

"Worry not," he murmured. "I will carry you to a place of rest and safety. For now, sleep; allow your mind and body respite from your trials. Sleep," he repeated, in a low, soothing tone.

With a deep sigh, Ski let her muscles relax utterly, and lay her head against the Elf's chest. He started walking again—long, smooth strides with the lightest of footsteps. The sensation was rather one of gliding along than of being carried by someone on foot. Ski's eyes closed fully, and she immediately tumbled into deepest slumber.


	9. Chapter 9

As Alagos neared Caras Galadhon, he slowed until he came to a stop, so as not to wake the girl in his arms with a sudden halt. The Elf considered his options. Sneaking into the City of the Galadhrim was more or less out of the question, encumbered as he was by an unconscious youth. Someone would surely spot him; and though Ski's appearance had indeed changed, she still looked enough like an Orc to elicit disgusted fascination at best and violent hostility at worst. No, Alagos decided, keeping Ski secret was still in her best interests for the time being. He needed to get her to Galadriel; the Lady would know what to do. But how to reach her without entering the City?

She had great spiritual powers, Alagos remembered. Lady Galadriel always seemed to know what was happening throughout the Golden Wood; perhaps she knew of Ski's need already and was sending a few trusted Elves to help. Alagos couldn't be sure, though—so he needed Galadriel to touch his mind and hear his thoughts, as she had done before. He only needed to get her attention.

Alagos took a deep breath and concentrated, closing his eyes and focusing all his energy on the words in his mind. _O Lady Galadriel, please hear me! I have found my friend, and she is wounded and spent. I am in need of your wisdom and help, my Lady!_

A soft cough close by startled the young Elf, snapping his eyes open. Instinctively drawing Ski protectively to his chest, he turned quickly to face his possible enemy.

"Having difficulties?" said the newcomer in a low, dry voice. Alagos relaxed when he realized it was only Idhren. The older Elf was smirking slightly. Alagos gently adjusted his hold on Ski, shifting her head to his shoulder. "Difficulties? Whatever do you mean, Idhren?"

"The look on your face a moment ago suggested intestinal distress. Shall I fetch a laxative?" Idhren shook with quiet laughter at Alagos's expression. The young Elf's cheeks were so brightly red the color could be easily seen even in the gloom. "I was _concentrating_!" growled Alagos. "On mentally _contacting_ the Lady _Galadriel_!" He was not the least bit amused at—as he perceived it—Idhren's flippant attitude toward his efforts to help Ski. Seeing his scowl not abating, the senior Elf sobered. "Of course," he intoned solemnly. "A wise course of action, and a noble effort." Alagos eyed him suspiciously, sure he had detected a note of sarcasm. Finding Idhren's face calm and impassive, though, he let it go.

"I need to enter Caras Galadhon unseen," explained Alagos. "Further, Ski is wounded. I thought that the Lady would be the best person to approach for help; she will know how to handle this situation."

"I am sure she will," agreed Idhren. "But I must advise you, Alagos, that the Lady's skills lie not in the healing arts. Young Ski's wounds do not appear deep or poisoned, though," he murmured, stepping closer and peering at her face, "so I would not doubt Lady Galadriel's ability to heal them."

"I have no doubt, either," said Alagos rather shortly. He was more than ready to get Ski to safety. "So will you help me enter the City unseen and carry her to the Lady?"

Idhren nodded. "Aye. You can enter by way of the Fountain Stream, through the culvert where it passes through the Green Wall as it flows from the City. The culvert opens directly into the Lady Galadriel's Garden; though open to the sky, the Garden is bounded by a high hedge, and is concealed from prying eyes."

"Very well. That seems a sound plan." Alagos quickly calculated his position. He was approaching Caras Galadhon from the North-west; the Fountain Stream flowed out of the City on the South-east, while the official entrance, the Great Gates, was at the South edge. He decided to follow the road North and East, circling the City and reaching the culvert without crossing the main entrance road.

He looked down at Ski. Even in the darkness, he could tell that her skin just wasn't quite "right"; definitely not Elven. "Idhren," he said, "could I use your cloak? I think I should cover Ski, in case we meet someone along the road." The older Elf hesitated, looking doubtfully at the sleeping girl. Alagos huffed impatiently.

"Oh, come, Idhren!" he snapped. "She no longer carries the Orcs' filth, even if she has not yet shaken off their form entirely." Idhren sighed, nodded, and unclasped his grey cloak. Carefully, without waking Ski, the two Elves covered her with the cloak. Alagos briefly shifted his grip so that the edges of the cloth could be wrapped around her sides, and then replaced his hands, holding the cloak secure. She stirred, momentarily disturbed, but did not wake fully. When Alagos began to walk once more, the rhythm of his smooth stride quickly sent Ski back into deep sleep.

The two Elves glided along the road. Though they moved quickly, their feet made no noise on the white stone. The only sounds for many minutes were the leaves whispering in the breeze, the faint chirp of crickets, and the deep, slow breathing of Ski. At some length the trio arrived at a bridge that crossed a steep-sided furrow, at the bottom of which was a clear, fast-flowing stream. They halted. "If you wish, I will accompany you through to the Garden, and aid you if you have need," offered Idhren softly. Alagos shook his head. "No, _mellon_. I thank you, but I would rather you went ahead into the City and alerted the Lady Galadriel to our presence in her Garden, and convey to her our need."

"Very well. I will beg a boon from her on your behalf. But know that if the Lady declines to meet with you, in her Garden or elsewhere, there is naught more I can do to that end."

"I understand." Alagos stepped off the road and took a pace toward the steep decline. "Do you need help descending the bank?" called Idhren quietly after him. Alagos turned and gave him a withering look. The older Elf chuckled, shrugged, and ran off lightly on down the road in the direction of the Gate Bridge.

Alagos watched him for a moment, and then took the last few steps through the grass to the edge of the bank. He began his descent. At first he had no trouble; but after several feet, the hill began to decline much more sharply. Worse, it was grassy, and the dew had already begun to form, making the grass slippery underfoot. Normally Alagos would have had no problem with this descent, leaping lightly down the bank. But he had underestimated the role his arms played in balancing him. With them entirely occupied by the sleeping Ski's dead weight, Alagos soon found himself slipping and sliding down the bank, much too quickly and precariously off-balance.

Thankfully, the ground was greatly flattened at the stream's edge, and the grass was sparser there. Unfortunately, though, the Elf's momentum didn't stop when he reached the narrow strip of even turf, and he came to a stumbling halt. Trying and failing to steady himself, he swayed and finally toppled sideways into the cool water.

" _Rhaich_!" cursed Alagos. "Phhah!" spluttered Ski at the same moment. Alagos's rushing, jerking descent had wakened her; she had just opened her mouth to ask what was going on when he fell, and she received a mouthful of water and sodden cloak. Spitting the cloth and water out, Ski shot to her feet, stumbling from the sudden use of her legs. Alagos who had also stood, steadied her; but she pushed him away and scrambled out of the water. She looked shaken.

Alagos was fully expecting a quip about him soaking Ski with river water yet again. To his surprise, Ski said nothing of the sort. She was staring at the water with an odd look on her face, a mixture of astonishment, fear, and consternation. "What's wrong with the water?" she gasped. Alagos frowned and looked at the stream, thinking Ski saw something strange taking place; but he saw nothing out of the ordinary in the clear, bubbling current. He looked back at Ski. She was now shaking herself like a dog, trying to dry herself.

"Ski? What do you mean? Nothing is wrong with the water. Are you all right?" He stepped out of the stream and drew close to her. She turned her wide, appalled gaze on his face. "Nothing's _wrong_ with it? You mean it's supposed to feel like that?"

Now it was Alagos's turn to be confused. "What? Do you mean it does not feel as all other water does? True, the temperature is warmer than that of the Nimrodel, but—"

"No!" Ski broke in. "No, it's not that it's warmer—don't you feel it? That… _stinging_?" Alagos stared at her, bewildered. "No…did a river stone cut you? Perhaps that is what you—"

" _No_!" growled Ski, frustrated he didn't know what she was trying to say. "I'm not cut! Well, I mean, I am on my face, but that's _not_ what I'm talking about! The water—it…it _stings_!" She thought for a moment as Alagos continued to stare at her in confusion. "Well…maybe it's…more like a tingle. But it's a _strong_ tingle. It sort of hurts, especially on the cuts on my face, but it sort of feels good too. Almost kind of…refreshing, I guess. Kind of like mint!" Ski grinned at Alagos, relieved to have finally figured out the words to describe the sensation.

"Mint," repeated Alagos blankly. Ski snorted, a little exasperated that he still wasn't getting it. "Yes, _mint_! You know, it's a plant, smallish leaves, jaggedy sort of edges—"

"I know what mint is," interrupted the Elf somewhat peevishly. "But I do not understand how the water can _feel_ like it."

"I mean it feels like the _effects_ of mint. Like how it tastes and makes your mouth feel when you eat it—that tingly feeling, you know?"

Alagos nodded, finally understanding what his friend meant. "I see," he said slowly. "However, I do not know why the water should affect you so. I think…I think that perhaps it stings you because the stream originates from a fountain inside the City—hence its name, the Fountain Stream. Perhaps because the stream's source is located in the heart of Caras Galadhon, tended to by Elves, and the water is pure, it stings your skin due to your…heritage."

Understanding dawned on Ski's face. "Ohhh….You mean like how Elvish blades burn Orcs' skin? You're saying the water might be the same way? All right, that makes sense, but it doesn't really hurt me. Not like Elvish metal hurts Orcs."

"I suspect that is because you are no longer an Orc," said Alagos. "Yet neither are you an Elf, or one of the Free Peoples—so the water is reacting to the small bit of darkness still left in you."

"Huh?" Ski was taken aback by his words. "What do you mean, I'm no longer an Orc? I'm…" She looked at her arms. Her night vision was even sharper than that of the Elves, and so she could clearly see by the light of the stars and crescent moon the change that had come over her skin. "Whoa!" she gasped, and jerked backwards, as if her arms were a dangerous beast. "I'm…OH VALAR, I'm NOT an Orc anymore!" she cried, and whooped with delight.

"Shh!" Alagos hissed. "I am, in fact, attempting to bring you into the City _secretly_. Why do you think we are in this ravine?" Ski fell silent and made a face at him. "Well, just cut my celebration short, why don't you? How was I supposed to know where we were and why we were here? I was asleep!" As Alagos sighed and conceded the point, she grinned mischievously. "Yes, I _was_ asleep…until you dumped me into the river, _again_! What's the deal with that, anyway? Is that your hobby or something—pushing people into streams when they least expect it?!"

Alagos laughed: now came the quip about unexpected baths. He held out his hand to Ski. "Come," he said. "You seem to be recovering, but your wounds still need tending to. I will lead you through the culvert and bring you into the Lady Galadriel's Garden."

Ski declined to take his hand, even though her legs were still achy from her flight. The two started off up the stream, keeping to the strip of dry ground next to the water. The strip was only just wide enough for Ski and Alagos to walk abreast, so the Elf kept to Ski's left, walking between her and the water since it affected her skin.

After they had walked a few yards, they passed under the bridge and came to the mouth of the culvert. Even that short distance had tired Ski out again, but she tried hard not to show it. She was grateful to Alagos for helping her when she was at her lowest, but still she was ashamed to have shown such weakness.

"It is not far now," said Alagos quietly. "See, the culvert is but six yards long." Ski gritted her teeth; her legs were shaking uncontrollably again, and she could tell from her friend's concerned tone that he noticed her exhaustion. "Right," she said tightly. Six yards wasn't far at all, but in this state it seemed an awfully long way—especially since her stride was half that of Alagos at most.

She huffed to cover her need for a deep breath. "Well, come on," she muttered, lurching forward. Ski could see Alagos out of the corner of her eye, watching both her and the path, and she could tell he was tensed and ready to catch her if she fell. He had the sense, though, to not lay his hand on her arm in an unwanted attempt to steady her. Part of Ski was touched that the Elf was so concerned for her, but the greater part of her being was determined to walk into Caras Galadhon under her own power. _Enough with the poor helpless maiden_ , she thought fiercely.

Jaw clenched, she took two last torturous steps and arrived at the small opening of the culvert, over which there was an iron gate. Alagos quickly stepped forward and bent slightly to peer out through the bars, looking for Idhren or Galadriel. Ski took the opportunity to lean her back against the cool stone side of the tunnel. She wanted nothing more than to slump down into a heap on the ground and sleep for a fortnight, but she forced herself to remain more or less upright. Eyelids half-closed, she let her mind drift out of focus.

"Ah!" Alagos's soft exclamation jolted Ski back to the waking world. A minute could have passed, or an hour; she didn't know. "Hm? What is it?" she mumbled tiredly. Alagos turned to look at her, and a weak beam of moonlight fell across his face, casting the shadow of the bars onto his skin; his smiling mouth was perfectly framed in the center of a rectangle, and in her stupor Ski could only stare at the lips, the frame making them seem disembodied when she gazed at that particular section.

"The Lady deigned to come and help us," he said in a glad, relieved tone. Ski tore her gaze away from the fascinating spectacle of a talking disembodied mouth and heaved herself off the wall. Not needing to stoop, she too looked out the gate, and her jaw dropped as her eyes fell on the most resplendent woman she had ever seen. She had never even dreamed of such beauty existing in a being that walked on Middle-earth; this Elf-maid appeared out of place even in the loveliness of Lothlórien, and Ski thought she must belong rather in the undying gardens of the Valar across the Western Sea. The moonlight, faint enough to begin with, faded to a cold and barely perceptible light next to her radiant beauty.

This, then, was the Lady Galadriel.


	10. Chapter 10

The Lady glided across the neatly trimmed grass of the Garden to the culvert gate, her bare toes dipping into the stream. In her hand was a small iron key wrought with decorative silver vines winding around it. Reaching out a creamy half-bare arm, Galadriel unlocked the culvert gate and stepped to the side as it swung open. Alagos exited the tunnel first, a look of respect and mild awe on his face. However, his expression was nothing compared to Ski's: the young Orc-girl, following Alagos into the open air, wore a look of utter astonishment and awe bordering on worship. Her eyes were open so wide the whites could be seen all the way around their amber irises and her jaw was hanging slack.

Galadriel laughed softly at Ski's expression. It was a musical laugh, deep for a woman's but rich and sweet, as the clear tones of silver trumpets and golden bells. Ski drew a sharp breath.

Alagos bowed respectfully. "O Lady of the Golden Wood, we thank you for coming to our aid." He shot a glance at Ski. She was still standing motionless, staring like a fool. Alagos surreptitiously inched his foot out to the side and stood on Ski's toes. She jerked and blinked as if coming out of a trance; regaining her senses, she made a somewhat clumsy bow to Galadriel and added her thanks to Alagos's in her own unpolished fashion. Alagos grimaced slightly at her rough-hewn, masculine manners, but Galadriel didn't seem to mind them. She smiled at the girl and even inclined her head slightly.

The Lady turned and stepped lightly back the way she had come, indicating with a small motion of her hand that the two friends should follow. She led them along the path of the stream until they found themselves in a small hollow, the ground rising gently around and before them. In the hollow stood a shallow silver basin upon a stone pedestal. Beside it was a smaller pedestal, upon which was a tall silver ewer. Behind the pedestals, wide, low stone steps were set into the hill in a gentle curve.

Galadriel turned to face the others. "We are now in the hollow of my Mirror," she said; "and here is where you must leave us, Alagos." The young Elf blinked. "But—but my Lady, I do not wish to abandon Ski…"

"Abandon her?" said the Lady sharply. "You yet feel that Ski is unsafe, though she is in my Garden, in the company of the Lady Galadriel herself?"

Alagos reddened. "No, my Lady," he mumbled, bowing his head abashedly. "I merely feel that it would be discourteous to leave my friend in a strange place, with a person whom she knows not."

The Lady Galadriel smiled at him. "I know. You are noble, young Alagos, and loyal to your friends. But the events that will happen now are intimate and highly personal. They are not yours to witness, but are for the eyes of maids only."

Ski, who had just opened her mouth to protest that she didn't _want_ Alagos to leave, closed it again and looked at Galadriel apprehensively. What was the Elf-lady talking about? _"_ _Intimate and highly personal"? I don't like the sound of that!_ Ski considered balking at the Lady's request and begging Alagos to either stay or take her with him, but Alagos was already bowing to Galadriel in acquiescence. Before Ski could say a word, he had murmured his farewell, given Ski a worried glance as he briefly clasped her shoulder, and stridden off up the stone steps and over the rise.

Ski gazed after her friend with a look of anguished anxiety, but Alagos didn't look back. He had obviously taken Galadriel's words about "female eyes only" to heart. The Elf watched Alagos disappear over the crest of the hill and then turned her attention to Ski. The girl was clearly not at ease being left alone with the mysterious, queenly stranger. The Lady gazed at her in silence, long enough to make Ski start fidgeting nervously. At length Galadriel spoke.

"Do not be afraid, young one. You will come to no harm here. Your journey is nearly complete, but there is yet one thing that must be done to fully purify your spirit."

Ski gulped, envisioning a long and arduous trial by fire, complete with ceremonial scarring. "Uh, no offense, my Lady, but couldn't we just skip that part and go straight to the completion of the journey? I'm really tired, you know, so I probably wouldn't do so well on a spiritual trial…could we maybe just wait till tomorrow—or just, uh…never?"

Galadriel laughed again. "My dear young Ski, you have nothing to fear from this last stage! There is no 'trial'. There is no physical effort required of you. All you must do is examine your spirit. Do you truly believe that you are an Elf?" Startled, Ski answered, "Well, yes, I do. Why?"

"Your pure heart, your belief that you belong among the light of the Eldar rather than the darkness of the Orcs, has already worked changes upon your body. It is as though a light shone out from your soul and drove away the twilight of your form." Ski looked at her hands again, this time examining them more closely. Galadriel was right; the skin was no longer wrinkled with the thick, tough look of dried meat, but was a smooth, pale gray that almost seemed to shine in the moonlight.

"However," continued the Lady, and Ski dropped her arms to turn her attention back to the Elf, "though you are no longer an Orc, neither are you yet an Elf. A true and full transformation can only come to pass through the will of Eru, the One." Lady Galadriel paused at Ski's bemused expression. "You know not of Eru Ilúvatar?" the Elf inquired.

Ski shook her head. "No, my Lady. Is he—or, um, she—one of the Valar? I've heard of them, but I don't know much about them or even the names of all of them. Orcs and Goblins love only Morgoth, and hate the others."

Galadriel stiffened at the mention of Morgoth. "Do not utter that cursed name within the borders of the Golden Wood," she said sharply, and Ski took a step back, eyes wide. "Sorry! I'm sorry—I didn't—didn't know…"

The Lady relaxed her posture at Ski's reaction and put out her hand. "I understand," she said, almost apologizing. "But you must understand this name is evil, and evil is not tolerated in Lothlórien."

Ski nodded, and Galadriel went on. "To answer your question: no, Eru is not one of the Valar. He created them. Eru is Ilúvatar, Father of All; only He can create true life. Aulë created the forms of the Dwarves, but they did not live until Eru instilled in them the Flame; the Dark One made his evil mockeries of Eru's creations, but though they function, move and even speak, they do not truly live, because Eru alone can instill the Flame."

Ski was silent, frowning. "So you mean," she said slowly, trying to understand, "that Orcs and Goblins and Trolls, we—they—aren't really…alive?" She scrunched her brows together. "And that means that _I'm_ not really alive, too. 'Cause you said I wasn't an Orc anymore, but I'm not an Elf either, so I'm not really anything. But how can I not be alive? I mean, I'm talking and stuff…" She trailed off, remembering the Lady's words. "I know you said Mo—the Dark One's creations walked and talked and everything but weren't really alive. But…. _how_? How is that possible?" Ski shook her head, making a frustrated noise.

The Lady gave her a small smile. "You must understand that all the Dark creatures have life, of a sort," she explained. "But it is not _Life_. They have no spirit, no deeper existence than their daily routine. They look to the future, but not far, and not past the end of themselves to their legacy. They look to the past but rarely, and then only to victories of their race, rather than learning from the failures. They do not think beyond the confines of this world and into the next, as even Men do. In short—they live, yes, but it is a shallow and meaningless life."

"I understand," Ski murmured, thinking back to her family and the other Moria Orcs. They had lived out their days just as Galadriel described. _Wait a second…_ "But then that means me, too?" She felt ready to cry. After all her belief, all her hoping, all she had done to escape being an Orc, now she was being told that wasn't even a _living soul_ in the first place?!

Galadriel lay her hand lightly on the girl's shoulder. "I am not finished," she said gently. "As I said, only Eru can create life; thus, only He can restore yours. It is true that you are now without life, but by the hand of Ilúvatar you will gain it, and become as one of us."

Ski sniffled. "But if Eru is the One that created all life…I mean, if he created the _Valar_ …and if Orcs are just mockeries of Elves and are lifeless—then why would He even care about me? Why would He give me life? Sure, I'm not an Orc anymore, but…" She gestured helplessly. "What makes me so different from all the other Orcs out there?"

Lady Galadriel smiled at her again. "The Orcs are indeed mockeries of Elves," she said. "A twisted and evil version of the First Children of Ilúvatar. But it seems to me that there lies, inside some Orcs at least, a deeply buried Elven soul. They do not have the Flame, but they have the capacity for it; and it is possible that these Orcs can somehow begin to awaken the Elf inside them, and shake off the darkness as you did, young Ski. I believe Eru would give life to you, and any like you, because though you are tortured and burdened by the Dark One's evil, you are still a Child of Ilúvatar. Now, see!" she said briskly. "The stars begin to fade, and the Moon has all but set. The dawn of a new day will be also the dawn of a new life. Come, take off your garments and step into the stream."

The Elf Lady took Ski's arm and gently steered her to the edge of the water, right next to the silver basin on its pedestal. Galadriel reached out a long white arm and lifted the ewer from its pedestal beside the basin, then again bade Ski to undress and wade into the stream.

Ski did as Galadriel said, feeling awkward and ugly in the face of the Lady's awesome beauty, and suddenly very glad that she had sent Alagos away. The water was fairly shallow, coming to just above her knees. She winced a little and sucked in her breath through her teeth at the burning, tingling sensation it caused, but after a moment she became used to it, and it even began to feel rather pleasant.

Skirts tied neatly at her knees, Lady Galadriel stepped into the water with the silver ewer in hand. The stream really was shallow, Ski realized; it only rose about halfway up Galadriel's shins, maybe a bit higher. Ski began to shiver slightly and saw chill-bumps rise on her bare skin, so much more noticeable now that it was so smooth. Even though it was summertime and Lothlórien was warm, the stream was chilly, and the predawn breeze was cool.

Galadriel stepped lightly through the water to Ski and bent, letting the liquid flow into the mouth of the ewer. Once it was full, she lifted it again, and stood looking down at Ski. "Well…what now?" asked the girl, crossing her arms to warm herself up.

"Ask for Eru's aid," the Elf replied simply. "Ask Him to bestow upon you the Flame of life, as He surely already knows. And I will bathe you with the cleansing waters of the Fountain Stream, to wash away what darkness remains."

And so Ski asked. "Eru Ilúvatar," she whispered, "if you would, please give me true life. I don't want to be an Orc or a not-quite-Orc anymore. I'm ready to be an Elf. Please just take away the darkness."

The very moment Ski ended her whispered plea, Galadriel poured the water gently over her head. But before that, even before she finished speaking, Ski felt something baffling. She felt like the Sun, whose head had not lifted above the horizon but whose rays were visible in the sky, had suddenly decided to reside in Ski's abdomen instead of the heavens. The chill of the morning and the water vanished, replaced by a very warm but not uncomfortable heat that began inside and spread quickly outward, like drinking the Orcs' burning alcohol but gentler. She felt the cool of the water as it splashed on her head and ran down her face and back, but it was entirely separate from the warmth and neither diminished the other.

Eyes instinctively closed to the water, Ski heard Galadriel refill the ewer. Twice more the Lady poured the stream water over Ski's head and shoulders, and Ski also bent to splash the water up onto her arms and torso, bathing herself. At last, when she could see the newly risen Sun's light through her eyelids, Ski heard Galadriel speak. "Now I name you Tuiwen," she declared, "for like the bud of a tree, you are new life that springs from the cold darkness of winter." Blinking to shake the last drops of water from her lashes, the newly named maiden opened her eyes for the first time as a true Elf.

The first thing she noticed was that Galadriel was a bit shorter—no, she herself was taller. Not much, really, but enough to make a noticeable difference. The waterline, too, was now at the very top of her knees. She looked down.

_Whoa._ If her skin had been smooth before, it was positively liquid now, and creamy—nearly as white as the Lady Galadriel's, but not quite. Her toes, gnarled and misshapen before, were now long, straight, and pretty. The nails were even neatly rounded now, though she had no idea how or why that had happened. She looked at her hands; they too were markedly different, with long slender fingers and smooth pink nail beds. She almost couldn't believe this body belonged to her, but when she moved her hands, the new hands moved too. She raised the foreign extremities and gingerly touched her face.

She gasped and almost grabbed the polished ewer out of the Lady's hands, but stopped herself at the last second to ask permission. "May—may I?" Her voice sounded strange: smooth, piping, almost musical. Galadriel, who was smiling broadly, handed her the vessel with an "Of course." When the new Elf took her first glance at her reflection, she made a noise that sounded like _eek!_ After a heartbeat she realized the curved sides of the ewer were drastically distorting the image, so she turned the vessel over and peered into its flat base.

The face she saw mirrored there was her own, and yet not her own. The skin, of course, was pale. Her cheekbones were a tad higher and more pronounced, and her jawline was more delicate. Her lips were shapely and a light reddish-pink. But what struck her the most were her eyes. Before they had been a burning amber, the pupils small and somewhat pointed like a cat's, the whites yellowed and muddled so that in places it was hard to distinguish between them and the irises. Now, though still amber, the color was softer, with more brown and gold. The pupils were round, the whites were bright white, and the irises were perfectly defined. The new eyes were rimmed with thick, dark lashes. "Tuiwen," she whispered to the reflection. "My name is Tuiwen. I am an Elf."

Tuiwen didn't know exactly how long she stood there in utterly stunned silence, gaping at her reflection, but it was long enough for the Sun to rise fully. Galadriel, who had waited patiently in the stream, finally brought the girl out of her trance and led her from the water. Another Elf-woman, whom Tuiwen had not noticed before, stepped over with some thick towels. Galadriel took one and dried her feet and legs, so Tuiwen took one and dried off with it too. Once she was dry, the Elf who had brought the towels also produced a simple white shift, which Galadriel instructed Tuiwen to don. It was a little big, but fit well enough. With Tuiwen now dressed and dry except for her hair—hanging in damp, dark locks around her shoulders—Galadriel and the other Elf-woman began to ascend the steps out of the hollow, the Lady beckoning for the young Elf to come.

She followed in that silence she couldn't seem to break. It all felt so unreal… And yet, it felt more real than anything had ever been before. The Sun was brighter, the colors bolder, the sounds richer. She wondered if this was due to her newly enhanced Elven senses or to the Flame of life now burning inside her. Though she normally would find the silence somewhat awkward, Tuiwen found that it wasn't so now. Besides, she had nothing to say, anyway. At the moment, she just wanted to take in every feeling, every sense of her new form.

The three Elf-women came to a gate in the tall hedge that fenced the Garden. Once on the other side, they kept walking, Tuiwen marveling at the mighty trees that surrounded them. There were mallorns in the forest outside the City, but none were of such size; these must be much, much older. Their leaves were the deep green of summer, but she could see flashes of gold, where the outer leaves were beginning to turn. She could hear but no longer see the stream on their left, and the rising Sun sent their shadows stretching off toward the rushing water.

Not much farther up the path, the three Elves came suddenly upon the figure of Alagos, pacing at the base of a mighty mallorn. When he saw them, he broke off his pacing and approached quickly, but rather nervously. "My Lady," he said when he neared, and bowed to the three of them. His eyes flicked over Tuiwen and his brows knit, but he didn't seem to recognize her. He turned to Galadriel. "My Lady," he repeated, "what of Ski? Is she healed? Where is she now?"

At last, Tuiwen found her words and broke the silence. "Right here, of course!" she burst out, running forward the last few steps to her friend and embracing him in a flying hug, making him stumble backwards. She let go and had to laugh at his shocked, slack expression. Alagos's eyes widened at the sound. The cadence was completely different now, but there was no mistaking that laugh. "Ski! You...you are..."

"An Elf!" she finished for him triumphantly. "And actually, it's Tuiwen now, not Ski. Isn't it a beautiful name?!"

"Aye," the Elf said weakly, "but the name has no beauty compared to your form. Sk...Tuiwen, you are indeed fair." Tuiwen laughed again at that. "Oh, thank you, Alagos! You're so nice! I am pretty now, but next to Lady Galadriel, I still look like an Orc." She offered a brilliant grin to the Lady and received an amused smile in return.

Tuiwen turned back to Alagos. "And see, I'm taller too!" She gave him another tight hug, which he returned this time, giving Galadriel and the other Elf a rather overwhelmed look over Tuiwen's head. Galadriel smiled again and the other Elf-woman gave a sudden cough that sounded suspiciously like a snicker. Tuiwen's hug went on until it could only be either the embrace of a small child or of a lover, and Alagos's face turned bright red. Clearing his throat, he gently disentangled himself from her arms. Tuiwen, however, didn't seem the least bit embarrassed. She flashed an impish grin and her eyes danced with sudden mischief.

"I think it's time for a rematch of our walnut game. Now that I'm an Elf too, I'm going to beat you! As soon as I find some better clothes, we're going back to our clearing and throwing some nuts at each other!"

Alagos glanced at Galadriel questioningly, silently asking permission on behalf of his friend, and the Lady nodded. Alagos looked back down into Tuiwen's joyful face and felt a wide smile grow on his own. He laid his hand on her shoulder and the two started off up the path, Galadriel's maidservant following behind. "We will find you some garments," he promised. "And then, _mellon_ , I shall give you a sound pelting with walnuts."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized the parallels to Christianity and baptism _after_ I wrote this, but it just sort of worked out that way. This fic was not meant to be an allegory for that. If you want to read it that way, cool; if not, also cool.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this blast from the past! <3


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